


The Magnus Records 024 - Familiar Tune

by ErinsWorks



Series: The Magnus Records [12]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast), The Magnus Records
Genre: AU: The entities are nice and the world is horrible., Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:35:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22081921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinsWorks/pseuds/ErinsWorks
Summary: In another world, one with magical lyres and divine festivals, perhaps Leanne Denikin could strike up a familiar tune. Perhaps she could fall in love all over again.Here at the Magnus Sanctuary, London we will find out.Start your interview. Share your hope.
Series: The Magnus Records [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1497773
Comments: 13
Kudos: 54





	The Magnus Records 024 - Familiar Tune

**MAG024 – Resident 2355 – “Familiar Tune”**

**KEEPER**

Interview with Leanne Denikin, regarding an antique lyre she possessed briefly in August 2004. Original interview taken January 17th 2005. Audio recording by Jonathan Sims, Record Keeper of the Magnus Sanctuary, London.

Interview begins.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

Let me be clear: I wasn’t really a victim to sentiment, before. I didn’t go out for holidays, or to go sightseeing, or travelling. People would talk about the seasons greetings, the joys of Halloween, the need to leave the house and see the world, all the rest, but… I never really _got it._ I just want you to understand, this isn’t some idealized hallucination, or me seeing what I want to see. This _happened._

It came as something of a shock when my grandfather died last August. I’d been living with him for almost two years at his home in Bootle, looking after him through his illness. My parents really weren’t in the picture really, which I imagine might’ve contributed to my apathy for the sentimental. So, of course, when I found out that the man who practically raised me himself had fallen ill, I rushed straight there to keep him alive. I loved the man but it was… a bad few months. Whatever he’d caught, it wasn’t a merciful disease, and… Well, he was dead within the year.

He was a good man. An important man, even. Bootle’s a bad town to be in- but then again, what town isn’t these days- and he always knew how to cheer the town up. I couldn’t explain it, really, he had such a way with organizing the people, with decoration, with… inclusivity, I suppose… that he knew how to make anyone feel welcome, while at the same time making everyone feel comfortable. I think that organization was a career of his, at one point, helping small towns organize festivals to brighten the dark times. And, you could never find a string-player as good as he was, be it a violin, or a guitar, or a fiddle, or… hell, even a harp. So when he died… Well, I might not have known anyone in the town, but I knew I wasn’t the only one mourning.

I didn’t go out that week. Or the next. I texted my girlfriend Maya once or twice- she was out of the country, and we had hit a rocky patch anyways, so she hadn't been around- but aside from that, I didn’t have contact with anybody between grandpa’s death and the funeral. It was set up by the town, actually, seeing as I didn't have the money, and my parents didn't even bother to show. So of course, someone had to bury him, and seeing as it wasn't me or me mum and dad, it had to be them. It was a cold day, odd for August, and I remember trying not to cry so that my tears wouldn't freeze my face further.

As it turned out, my grandpa had left the house to me. It probably shouldn't have been as surprising as it was, but for some reason I really hadn't realized I was the only person in his life big enough to give something like a house to. It was funny really, because Maya had been doing freelance work, and she'd been having trouble keeping a place to stay. I told her the news, and she said she'd be right over. In Maya time "right over" means "in two months", by the way. Heh.

I started going through his old things while I waited for Maya to show up. Grandpa Nikolai had always been open about things. Hell, I don't think there was a single lock in the house. I just never really thought to look through the place, you know? And, if I'm honest… That's probably why I never noticed the incredibly obvious trapdoor up to the loft. I figured that I may as well look up there and see what was worth keeping, and fetched a ladder from the garage.

Despite the unusually cold and dry weather, the loft seemed… Warm. And at the same moment I realized this, I realized that there was a lit candle sitting at the center of the room. I instinctively blew it out to keep a fire from spreading, sending the loft into darkness, and cursed when I realized I had to go down and get a torch and find the light.

It seems a bit spooky to say now, but I realize there was no way a candle could've stayed lit since grandpa died. Let alone since he was well enough to climb a ladder.

So I climbed back up, found the pull-cord attached to an old bulb, and lit up the room to find… well, to find a _concert_ _hall,_ frankly. In every corner, on every wall, there was a string instrument: each looking in craft and decoration to be from different places. And, scattered between the violins, guitars, harps, and fiddles, was the occasional drum, or other percussive instrument. It was a musical treasure trove. And sat at the end of the room, patterned in what I thought to be golden filigree was the masterpiece of them all: a _Lyre_ , set upon a bronze plaque that read… _“Dance, for there is a familiar tune.”_

I investigated the other instruments, with a kind of unearthly fascination. I discovered that, beautiful as they were, each of the instruments had been rendered unplayable in some way. The drums had been punctured, the strings had fallen apart, etcetera. It seemed like only the Lyre was intact. So, I did what came to me, and...

[Door opens. KEEPER does not notice.] 

… began to approach the Lyre with-

**SASHA**

_(Very loudly, drawn out, sing song)_ Lyyyre?

**KEEPER**

_(Screeches, caught off guard)_ … Good _lord_ Sasha, you can’t just… You can’t just pop in unannounced like that. I understand that it’s your office, but-

**SASHA**

Lyre’s a funny word, Jon, you know? Liar, lyre, liar, lyre.

**KEEPER**

… I’m… Sorry?

**SASHA**

And I don’t forgive you!

**KEEPER**

… What??

**SASHA**

Afternoon, Jon!

 _(Trailing off)_ Lyre, liar, lyre, liar, lyre….

[Door shuts]

**KEEPER**

… God. 

Interview continues.

**KEEPER (INTERVIEW)**

So, I did what came to me, and stepped over to the Lyre.

I don't think I originally intended to _play_ the thing, you know. I mean, I'd never even _played_ _an instrument_ before, least of all something as esoteric as a lyre. Lyres are old instruments, you see. Greek in origin, perhaps, but they spread through a bit of Europe, then to the Celts. Takes a bit of research, that. Not much Celtic culture left, with the Monarchy Of Britain in charge. Of course, there's not much of _any_ culture left nowadays, but… I'm getting off track.

So, I hadn't intended to play it, but I… I _did_ somehow. I simply lifted the lyre from its plaque, and began to pluck the strings. And much to my disbelief, what came out was _music._ Serene, and perfect, and beautiful, like it had been rehearsed a thousand times. And the song was… well it was familiar to me somehow. I’d never heard it before, but as I plucked out the notes I found myself smiling at a song that surely, _surely,_ I must have known. Have you ever seen someone with alzheimer's listen to a song from their childhood? The way their eyes light up, their faces spread into grins, their hearts full to bursting, as they murmur the words they didn’t know they knew? I had never known that feeling, not until I began to sing words to an ancient melody I’d never heard. I didn’t even know the language, but the music just came to me as it did.

I set the Lyre back in its place, and hurried back downstairs. I was busy, I couldn’t be wasting time fabricating a melody I’d never heard.

I didn’t really think about the lyre and its fellow instruments over the next week or so. Like I said, I was busy, and I think I was trying to ignore the obviously _magical_ thing that had happened. Plus, Maya had moved in, and while we weren’t _great,_ we were doing a lot better. Lots of snogging and the like. It didn’t come up again until Maya pointed out the open trapdoor up to the loft, and asked what was up there. I told her it was nothing important, but she insisted on going up there. Right now, I’m glad we did, but I was honestly a bit pissed at the time. Still, she insisted it’d be a little adventure. And… I suppose she was half right.

When I followed her up the ladder, she seemed to be staring at something like it was from another world. I followed her gaze over to the old guitar sitting peacefully beside the lyre. And as I did, I realized something: the guitar was in perfect shape. But that couldn't have been right, it had been broken before, like I said… but… She said the guitar was just like her dad’s. The one he had once taught her to play with, so long ago. She wandered over to the guitar and picked it up, and without really thinking, I did the same with the lyre. And, without really thinking… we began to play.

It was the same song. The same traditional song, the same melody, the same music to our ears. Her hands caressed the strings as she stared at me in disbelief, and then awe, and then _joy_ , and before long, we were dancing as we played. We were laughing. And then, my lyre was on the ground, and her guitar was there as well, and I kissed her like I’ve never kissed before and… And I swear this is true… the music kept playing. It was a song from lifetimes ago, a song so beautiful, so magical, that she and I both knew it without ever hearing it.

Things have been great, since then. Me and Maya are doing well. I’ve gotten into the festival-organization business. Well, as much as you can call it a business, it’s mostly just me travelling around and trying to help people set up for their cultural holidays. I’d never really been interested in anthropology, not till then, but here I was, studying every culture this side of Europe. And I’ve been coming here just for the therapy, you know, and it’s really helped.

I’ve been meaning to propose to Maya, you know. I’ve just… I haven’t had the courage. But every time I look into her eyes, every time I kiss her, every time we hold hands, every time she picks up that guitar that shouldn’t be in the good shape it is… I swear to you, I hear the music.

**KEEPER**

Interview ends.

At the very least, I can say that I relate in some part to Miss Denikin’s struggle with communication of feelings.

I can’t prove or disprove the contents of this interview, and if I am being frank, even I’m getting tired of trying to. According to sanctuary records, Miss Maya and Miss Leanne Denkin are now happily married. And apparently, according to Tim, the Sanctuary’s library references one Nikolai Denikin. On page 43 of Gregory Petry’s _Pagans and Patrons: Festival practices in the 1940s,_ I found a reproduction of an old black-and-white photograph. If the caption is to be believed, it shows a small selection of members of a polytheistic pagan church. A wiccan, a hellenist, two slavic pagans, and two practicers of heathenry. The photograph is labeled as being from 1948 and taken in Minsk, Russia. Only the hellenist is named: Nikolai Denikin. The name of the church in question was Фестиваль Всего [[Fih-stih-vall Sii-Voh]] - _The Festival of Everything._

That said. I am certain that I saw a plaque exactly like the one in this interview in Tim’s office, on the rare occasion that I was allowed inside. Down to the writing etched into it: _“Dance, for there is a familiar tune.”_

End recording.

**Author's Note:**

> My girlfriend is a galaxy-brain genius gal, who came in and saved my ass when I realized that I had NO CLUE what the Familiar's parallel to the Stranger's carnival theme would be. She suggested festivals, the warm and welcoming cultural touchstones of ages past. And I love her. Cuz that's brilliant.
> 
> Thank you all once again for your comments and kudos, and thank you for giving me faith in my writing abilities again. Love you all, and goodnight!


End file.
